Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

"Exactly because of this." The Civil Guard Officer gently placed the register on the table, carefully breaking the seal, flipping through the pages as he asked, "Mr. Majiya, how many acres of land do you own?"

"We..." Old Majiya pondered over his words, "just live a comparatively affluent life."

The Civil Guard Officer found the answer in the register, "Mr. Majiya, you have registered land under your name totaling four hundred and twenty-two acres, two-thirds of which is arable land, and the remaining one-third is mountainous — including the forest on it. In Oak Town, you are the wealthiest manor owner."

"This amounts to nothing," Old Majiya replied humbly, "in face of your authority."

"Compared to the vast Newly Reclaimed Land, a mere four hundred acres is indeed nothing; compared to the already cultivated land, your manor is nothing as well." The Civil Guard Officer slammed the register shut, "But if you add up the land owned by you, your neighbors, your friends — all of you, the farmland you own surpasses seventy percent of all farmland in Vernge County."

The Civil Guard Officer returned the register to the archive, speaking as if casually, "Don't you find it interesting? Mr. Majiya, Iron Peak County is much poorer than Vernge County, yet the wealth owned by Vernge County's freehold and tenant farmers is less than that of Iron Peak County."

Old Majiya asked with difficulty, "I don't understand what you mean, sir."

"No need to ponder on what I mean, talk about yourself." The Civil Guard Officer returned to his seat, opening another register, "Why did you make a donation for your son's position, Mr. Majiya?"

"Of course, it was to gain official status," Laor shouted inwardly. Being exposed blatantly, Majiya Lauer felt both angry and embarrassed, while old Majiya was left speechless.

The Civil Guard Officer seemed unwilling to waste time; he directly gave an answer, and this answer was more profound than what Majiya father and son had thought: "Because you are all political pariahs."

Laor abruptly lifted his head, the shout of "Who are you calling a pariah" almost slipped out. But his wrist was grasped by his father, stopping his outburst. This chapter's true source is My Virtual Library Empire (M|V|LEMP-YR).

Old Majiya looked at his son, shaking his head gently.

"Don't misunderstand, in front of the only strong power in the Newly Reclaimed Lands Province — the New Reclamation Legion, everyone is a pariah." The Civil Guard Officer sliced open the Newly Reclaimed Lands Province for Old Majiya to see, bloodily:

"The provincial government is a servant of the Legion; autonomous towns are the Legion's money bags; the Grand Council, which nominally represents all the freemen of the province, is regarded by the Legion as a rubber stamp, convened only when needed to seal documents."

Old Majiya listened in silence.

"As for you gentlemen," the Civil Guard Officer's tone was very calm, making his words sound more sarcastic, "On one hand, the Legion co-opts you, collaborating with you to extract the wealth of the Newly Reclaimed Lands, ruling it with your help; on the other hand, it suppresses you, sharing no political power with you."

The Civil Guard Officer tapped the register on the table, glancing at Marcia, "The Legion itself is a highly closed, self-sufficient political entity. It only accepts members with the same identity recognition, and absolutely does not easily absorb outsiders."

Although inwardly unconvinced, Laor had to admit there was some truth in the opponent's words.

The Civil Guard Officer continued, "You have land, reputation, and knowledge. For the vast freehold and tenant farmers, you are natural leaders. If it were in The Federated Provinces, you would certainly have seats in the National Assembly; if it were in Vineta, the supervisory government would also have to patiently listen to your opinions."

The Civil Guard Officer stood up, pointing at his own nose, "But in Newly Reclaimed Lands Province, the Legion would accept me — the son of a church serf, and would not accept your son — even if you are a major manor owner with four hundred acres."

The Civil Guard Officer looked down at Majiya and Marcia, asking, "So, if you're not political pariahs, what are you?"

"You..." Old Majiya raised his head with difficulty, "forgive my ignorance, what is it you want to tell us?"

"I'm giving you terms." The Civil Guard Officer sat back in his seat, "You should know what we are doing in Iron Peak County."

Laor did not understand.

Old Majiya's Adam's apple moved, clearly aware of the answer, "I've heard a bit."

The Civil Guard Officer clasped his fingers, his tone sincere, "Please listen carefully, on a personal note, I am more inclined to keep large farms. Only large farms can produce as much grain as possible, providing food. Freehold farmers will always prioritize their own needs, the payback period is too long, we can't afford to wait."

Old Majiya nodded lightly.

"However." The Civil Guard Officer's gaze was as calm as water, "We are not necessarily in need of retaining the class of manor owners. Rather than letting you be manor owners, we would prefer to be the manor owners ourselves."

The office fell into a deathly silence.

"Don't misunderstand, this isn't a personal enmity, nor have you done anything wrong." The Civil Guard Officer picked up the overturned cup, pouring a glass of water for each of the two facing him, "War is about to commence, and the enemy possesses far more wealth, population, and land than us. If we cannot mobilize our forces to the fullest, we are doomed to meet the end you expect."

His voice was faint, yet clear, as if reciting a poem, "This is a life-or-death war, there are no centrists, and everyone must choose a side. So we will not tolerate non-collaborators, much less those who secretly sabotage. We will use all means to survive, because only in this way can we survive."